Naoto's Journal: The Inaba Murders
by Shirogane Chronicles
Summary: Naoto Shirogane's private thoughts while investigating the Inaba murders before joining the Investigation Team. An emotional exploration of Naoto's inner shadow.
1. Entry 1

**Naoto's Notebook: Entry 1  
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My grandfather doesn't want me to be a detective anymore.

But it's too late. I am already on the train, enduring my long trip to Inaba.

Since I am going to be here for quite awhile, I decided to write about my past. It might clarify something._  
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><p>I used to always be home alone. My parents - dead from a car accident while investigating a case - left me to be alone. Their greatest gift to me was my name: <em>Naoto<em>, the truth seeker, and _Shirogane_, which represents a lineage of four generations of detectives. Now five.

My grandfather and guardian was a detective himself, so he was always gone. Hired hands clothed me, tutored me, and fed me. The solitude eventually led to a major emotional meltdown, so devastating that my grandfather dropped a case to take care of me. It must have made an impact on him, since he never again left me alone for extended periods. Instead, he took me to work with him.

The police used to be kind to me. They mistook me for a boy, which earned me the name "boy detective." To pass my time, the officers gave me children's serialized mystery novels to read. As my grandfather worked, I asked him strings of questions, which he asked right back at me. Soon, I was answering them myself. And later, I gave my grandfather new perspectives on his own cases.

As a boy detective, the police gave me small jobs. They encouraged me to find lost pets and collect rewards. I conducted interviews and invented my own gadgets. Today, I still have the cat-shaped pet tag given to me when I solved my first case.

At age 12, I met a female detective who gave me my first adult case. Her name was Touko-san, a tall, authoritative, curvy woman. "What a cute girl," she squealed upon meeting me. Before then, I never kept secrets, but I was used to the police calling me by male pronouns. It became how I thought of myself, and when I lounged at the station with my detective books, I imagined myself as the protagonists. When Touko called me a girl, I felt embarrassed. So I decided to keep being the boy detective.

As I advanced into my teen years, the police grew meaner. They treated me like a nuisance and told me to play with my friends. Some of them knew I spent my life at the station and thought of them as family. I couldn't go "play with friends." I had no friends to begin with.

Despite discouragement, I kept receiving contract work. On the case, however, detectives no longer wanted to cooperate. I annoyed them when I was right. Though only a couple years ago, they were proud and smiled.

My grandfather eventually took the side of his co-workers. He told me to quit working and start playing and to remember why I started doing this.

During one bitter battle, he hid his face and declared "I've made a monster. Your parents would be ashamed of me."

But it was he who failed to understand. I was only being exactly who my parents hoped I would become. At Inaba, investigating a serial murder, I can become the protagonist at last.


	2. Entries 2 & 3

**Entry 2**

Have I just arrived in a ghost town? A quick stroll through the shopping district left me disconcerted. Shops closed or barely running, a general air of dread. The few citizens of scattered throughout spoke in hushed tones. I stuck out here. My button-up shirt and tie signified a certain professionalism and urbanity the rustic town hardly sees.

Toward the end of the unsettling street, I came across a general store, where a boy around my age took discolored outdoor displays inside. He had shortcut, wavy blonde hair and wore cynicism on his face.

"Excuse me," I said.

He shot me a glare. He didn't welcome me, all the more reason to speak with him.

"Do you happen to be a Konishi?" I said. Those eyes. That hair. He was a male incarnation of Saki, the second murder victim.

His lip quivered and his nose twitched like he smelled something awful. "I already said hundreds of time I'm not talking to the media. Get the hint already."

"You see," I continued anyway, "I am going to be starting at Yasogami soon, so I thought-"

_Slam. _He locked himself in the shop. I watched as the 'open' sign flipped to 'closed'.

I am in Inaba for one purpose: to be undercover at Yasogami High, to get a perspective the police otherwise wouldn't have. But I can't do it. I am not an average high school student. I've never been in a club, or had a close friend. My presence is alien, especially to a small town. How many seconds will I need to count before they realize I'm a detective? How many more before they slam the door and put out a closed sign?

I accept I won't make a single friend at this school.

**Entry 3**

"You already spoke with Naoki Konishi?!" said Detective Dojima, slamming his coffee mug on the conference room table.

"That's overzealous, wouldn't you say?" said Dojima's sidekick, Detective Adachi.

"I meant no disrespect," I said, deliberately telling myself to be slow and be cool. Lesson #1 in my line of work: don't let others know you can be shaken. "Forgive me for assuming it wouldn't be a problem."

Dojima-san leaned back in his chair with a groan, then he lit another cigarette. I could tell what he was thinking: _a kid, a kid, a kid, a kid, a kid…_

"Look, we already have detailed reports, interviews, everything you need. I could have told you myself that Konishi kid is torn up and has a short fuse. You should have waited. Talked to us."

"I understand, Dojima-san," I said without even a small bow. Adachi starred too, giving me a full-body scan. Now I had two people's inner thoughts screaming at me: _a kid, a scared little kid._

"And I should perhaps let you know," continued Dojima, planting his face in one hand. "It wasn't my idea to hire you on. You're even younger than my nephew, for Christ's sake. I worry about him. I hope he's just being a good kid and not getting into trouble. I can't imagine what _your_ folks think."

"My late parents were detectives themselves, as you're likely aware," I said.

"Well! Aren't you a special snowflake?" quipped Adachi.

I may have come from a lineage of detectives, but Dojima _looked_ like a detective. He had the stubble, the smoking habit, and those restless, tired eyes. He stays up and worries. Unsolved cases age him. He's the type of rugged, established detective who will be fighting with me - the kid - the whole way.

They left me alone in the conference room to look at the case file. As Detective Dojima promised, it was detailed. No crack went unpaved. For an instant, I understand Dojima's pain. Some higher authority brought me here. I'm a trump card, the last resort, and the living reminder of his failure.


End file.
